In the Long Run

In just a few short hours I will leave on my European vacation. I’m exhausted, but excited, and I think I am ready.

I’ve paid my bills and stopped my mail. I’ve charged my camera battery and inserted a 2-gig card for the numerous pictures I hope to take. I have my money belt packed with the British pounds I’ll need for our first stop in London. I’ve checked the weather forecasts for all the cities we’ll visit, and have learned that it will rain only half the time. Nevertheless, I’ve packed my sunglasses, sunscreen, and swimsuit.

I’ve pasted on my most demure American smile, designed to assure the Europeans that I am not an ugly American, in any sense of the word. I’m prepared to wear a skirt while in the Vatican, and a shawl on my head in a Moscow cathedral. I’ve learned how to say “excuse me” in four different languages, with appropriate tone and gestures, so that I can apologize for my unintentional blunders.

I eagerly anticipate acquiring lasting memories, impressions, skills, knowledge, and even friendships. Let the adventure begin!

Posted by Cyppy at 9:25 AM  5 comments

”Would you like a ride to our condo, Aunt C?” My niece, Bonnie, sweet, and friendly, invited me onto the back of her ATV. I agreed readily, as I was without a vehicle at my family reunion, and the mile and a half walk in the 95 degree heat did not appeal to me.

I clambered onto the back of the big machine. “Is this really safe?” I questioned. “How do I hold on? Shouldn’t I be wearing a helmet?” My niece handed me a bike helmet, which I promptly put on backward, causing the other drivers and riders to smirk and stifle chuckles.

Helmet righted, I grabbed the back metal rack as Bonnie popped the clutch and jerked forward with an unexpected jolt. That should have been my first warning of the wild ride ahead. When we turned left instead of right on the main road, I innocently asked Bonnie where we were going. “I don’t know what he’s doing,” she answered, referring to her husband, who was the lead driver in our 4-wheeler triple train.

What he was doing, was leading us down, or rather, up, the primrose, or rather, sagebrush, path, on the most harrowing ride of my life. Bonnie’s husband abruptly turned onto one of the steep off-road trails. “I didn’t bargain for this!” I nervously shouted to Bonnie, as we jack-rabbitted forward and upward and around a curve. She giggled unperturbedly, and answered, “Oh, it will be fun! Just hang on!”

Easier said than done. My fingers clutched the back rack in a vise grip, but I felt like a rag doll that might be tossed off into the brush at any second by the machine’s jerking and lurching. Bonnie had no fear. She gunned around corners, and sped even faster on the infrequent and short straight-aways. She did slow down on one curve when it seemed to me that we were balancing sideways on only the two left wheels, and perilously close to rolling. I gasped, and swallowed hard as we miraculously landed on all fours and zoomed ahead to an interminable host of hazards.

I was absolutely terrified. I really thought I might die, or at least break most of the bones in my body when the ATV landed on me, as I knew it must surely do—if not from tipping over on its side, then from back flipping end over end. I tried breathing deeply to calm myself. I choked a mouthful of dust. I tried shutting my eyes. That only compounded the terror as I couldn’t see the obstacles ahead and prepare myself for the jarring impacts. I tried engaging in light banter with Bonnie in a show of bravado. But she kept turning her head to answer me, and I was mortified that she might miss a curve when she wasn’t looking forward.

When would this nightmare end? The sagebrush scraped my bare legs as we jounced along the trail, which consisted of a much-too-narrow alpine slide-like trough full of large dirt speed bumps, all of which were totally ignored. Bonnie was the lone female driver, and seemed determined to keep right on the (w)heels of her brother just ahead. I cringed when we narrowly avoided a rear-ender. Was there no “one ATV length for every 5 miles of speed” rule on this voyage?

Mercifully we reached the apex of the trail and stopped for a moment before turning around. Unflappable as ever, Bonnie asked if I wanted to drive. “No, thanks,” I replied, thinking I didn’t want to ride either. “I want to live to be 50.”

Descending the trail was as frightening as going up, with more horrifying visions of the ATV somersaulting end-over-end down the trail like a wind-blown tumbleweed. Still, it seemed to take less time than on the way up the trail, and suddenly the bouncing and wrenching stopped as we hit a flat gravel road. Somewhere after that, when the gravel turned to pavement, I finally ceased thinking of my funeral.

I don’t think I’ll be getting back on an ATV again soon. If I feel the urge for a wild ride, I’ll just take a cab when I’m in Rome or Paris.

Posted by Cyppy at 2:48 PM  2 comments